Let's talk about
by Secrets-0f-dreams
Summary: We all have a story, though many don't get heard, or are forgotten in time. Some stories though, deserve to be told, and should be held in our hearts for all time. Today was the day I was told a new story, of a person who without, Sherlock Holmes, my best friend, would be very much dead. I just wish she was still alive for me to thank her.
1. Chapter 1

_I asked Mycroft once, in a moment of curiosity, whether Sherlock Holmes had ever loved someone before us. Not a romantic love really, but the unconditional love a person has for another; where you can fight and scream and hate each other all you like, but you'd still go to the ends of the earth to save them._

_At this, Mycroft looked up sharply and I could see what looked like worry in his eyes. Understandable of course. The only times I used to ask questions like that about Sherlock was when he'd relapse, or throw himself into a fit of depression._

"_No he's fine, it's nothing like that" I reassured the elder Holmes when he asked about his brother's mental state, "just wondering really"_

_Mycroft fiddled with his tie slightly and sighed, "Well when Sherlock was a child he did grow, shall we say, attached to things at a time. He'd bring stray cats off of the streets and keep them in his room. The smell was atrocious"_

_I grinned, slightly impressed, and tried to imagine a more innocent Sherlock that wasn't my prat of an ex flatmate/best friend/partner in crime. I couldn't see present day Sherlock petting a cat or any other sort of creature being brought into 221B that wasn't for experimenting on. However we'd never actually gotten a pet. That was a thought I stored away for later._

"_Yes believe it or not Sherlock was quite the animal lover. He was absolutely devastated when Redbeard died. Didn't come out of his room for weeks"_

"_Apart from the animals though, was there anyone he was ever close to? Even as a grown up did he ever get close to someone?"_

"_Not growing up no, social interaction wasn't the strong point for either of us. And you know as well as I do what he thought about having friends. No there was never anyone he shared any part of his life with until you came along. My brother was quite the recluse"_

_Now that I definitely believed; though I did feel a pang of sadness. Just once I would like to hear that Sherlock didn't spend nearly all his life alone, that there was someone who he shared something with before we all came along. Though if he did they'd still be in his life now, wouldn't they?_

_So engrossed in my own thoughts I almost missed the far off look on Mycroft's face turn into one of alertness, as if a light bulb had just gone off. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, resting his chin on his hand and narrowed his eyes._

"_John…"_

"_Hmm? Yes?"_

"_There is something I do remember. Or rather someone"_

"_What? Who?" his tone of voice was cautious, debating whether he should speak of it or not._

"_Well it was when he-during that time he 'went away'"_

_I knew to what he was referring to. The time he faked his death and the two years he spent away._

"_It's alright, you can talk about it; it doesn't really affect me now"_

_Mycroft looked dubious but carried on regardless, "it was right towards the end, when enough of Moriarty's men were still around for it to be dangerous still, and I received word that he needed assistance. I sent a few of my men off to Germany to help him but they arrived too late"_

"_What do you mean too late? Was he alright?"_

"_In one piece yes, but they found him at a hostel with burn marks everywhere and a completely broken mental state. They said he was shaking from head to toe and kept muttering a name"_

"_It didn't happen to be Holly did it?" His eyes widened slightly so I knew this was the case._

"_It did. How did you know?"_

"_He shouted it once, in a nightmare actually. I wasn't there but Mrs Hudson told me he was screaming it at the top of his lungs. Who was she?"_

"_That's the thing. I don't know. The men who found him said he was muttering it over and over but wouldn't say anything else, I haven't heard a peep from him about it since. It's always been stuck in the back of my mind though"_

"_Did you ever ask him about it?"_

_Mycroft nodded "once, though I vowed to never again"_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because he looked sad John. Heartbroken, even"_

_I shuddered. Sherlock was always so good at masking his emotions, or covering them up with something else entirely. To think of him looking so broken was heart breaking in itself; like watching someone you think is indomitable fall right before you, never to regain the height you once held them at._

_It stayed in my mind, that conversation, for weeks on end until one day I couldn't hold it in any longer. Sherlock had been playing his violin in an almost bored fashion when I threw the newspaper to the side, an act so dramatic it instantly caught his attention, and asked him the very question that had been bugging me._

"_Who was Holly Sherlock?"_

_There it was. A flicker of pain in his eyes and then gone; masked over by a cool detachment._

"_We don't know a Holly John. Holly who?"_

_Did I mention he could also be the world's most stubborn git?_

"_Mycroft once said you knew someone, when you were in Germany, when his men found you in that hostel. Who was she Sherlock? The name you kept saying when they found you, it was Holly"_

_He said nothing._

"_Was she a friend? Someone you met whilst you were there? What happened-"_

"_**I don't want to talk about it!"**_

_The sharpness of his voice was enough to make me jump. He'd only raised his voice like that once, when I'd doubted him at Dartmoor._

_Time ticked by in the silence and all I could hear from him was heavy breathing and the occasional twang as he plucked the strings of the violin. I didn't want to upset him really, but now I could see how much it affected him and it made me want to know even more. One thing I didn't want was for him to keep secrets from me, not after last time._

"_Why?"_

"_Why what?"_

"_Why won't you talk about it? I mean, this is me you're talking to"_

"_John. Don't"_

"_Look. If it means that much to you then I won't ask again, but I just want to know who she was okay? It's not every day I hear you've got someone in your life other than me, Molly or any of the others"_

"_I don't" It was spoken so quietly I had to strain to hear him._

"_Sorry?"_

"_I don't John" louder this time, "I don't have her in my life and I never will have again and __**that**__ is why I do not want to talk about her. She's not coming back"_

_He threw himself down on the couch and curled his knees to his chest, a position I knew he only did when he was feeling exposed or vulnerable. After a second he looked up at me and sighed._

"_It's a story I could get so wrong John. I wouldn't want to tell something that doesn't give her the justice she deserves"_

_From what he was telling me, this girl had died or something and she must have meant an awful lot to him, for his eyes were haunted by the very mention of her. I didn't speak for a while as he looked like he was struggling, an internal war going on and out of respect I didn't want to push. Sherlock wasn't the man who'd tell all at the drop of a hat._

"_You know how I feel about people John. There's 99% of the population who don't even deserve the brain cells they have, who just waste them, and then there's the slim chance in life you'll meet the 1% who might actually be of use to you. That's how it always has been, how I've run my life constantly and probably how I will continue to do so. I never knew any different until she came into my life"_

"_Holly?"_

_He nodded and sighed loudly "she was someone who didn't even fit into a percentage; she didn't belong anywhere or match up to anyone. She just sort of fit but was separate. Do you understand?"_

_Oh I did. And I told him so, all the time feeling overwhelmed and out of my depth to what I was being told. Because for the first time in my life, Sherlock Holmes, the cool detachment of a man who lived his life away from sentiment and emotions, was telling me that he'd met someone special. Someone who had found a place in that heart that was somewhere in there._

"_And so she deserves the right words, the right legacy. If there's one thing in life I don't want to get wrong John, it is this"_

_I nodded again. I still wanted to know though, and hoped he would tell me for maybe it would do him good to end this story forever. He was carrying around this legacy of a girl as if it were a book he constantly held in his hands. If it hurt him to even mention her name, then god knows how much weight he was carrying on his shoulders at the memory of her._

"_The best way to tell a story is to start from the beginning. Then don't stop until you get to the end"_

_I'll never forget this moment. Where it all started, the room dimmed by the growing darkness outside and barely a sound about. As if the world was getting ready to listen to something important, which it was, I just didn't know it at the time._

_Sitting up and leaning forward, Sherlock made sure all was still and he had my attention before starting. Then he grasped both his hands and sighed deeply._

"_The beginning started when…"_

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	2. Note please read

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